01-02-2008, 10:25 PM
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harpurr. set just outside of the storm borders since Sedition isn't the type to waltz into their pack and start playin' the fiddle. sorry for the wait.
The sound of a violin can be haunting, soothing or like someone is beating a cat with another cat. Sedition in his life had produced all three of the harmonies mentioned previously, although the latter sound had taken up a great deal of his childhood learning. As his uncle had taught him, the fiddle could give the mind a break from the patience the violin often needed and it was with that mindset that he had wandered towards what he would later found out was Storm. The slightly cracked violin had been well loved, stored away in a house with a child's' books and toys and wrapped up in a suffering silk cloth. Keeping the cloth he had rosined the bow and practiced a few tunes. Gone were the days of the human bard of which he had read, and now were the days of werewolf bard. Maybe.
Smelling the beginnings of a pack border he stopped, leaning against a nearby tree and began to tune the instrument, carefully cradling fiddle underneath chin and in hand and letting the song flow out of him, through his arm and fingers and into the world around him. Bleeding Souls always seemed quiet compared to Berowick. Back home there had been instruments, singing, wrestling and all matters of livelihood. Here there were similar things but they seemed reserved for special occasions. In fact, there were some that didn't even walk the werewolf lifestyle; preferring to spend their days in their four-legged form and living as their kin did during the time of the humans. To each their own, Sedition would say and resume his carving or cooking. Today was music.
Sweet dancing fiddle music. Leaning against the tree with blue eyes closed he let the music guide him and felt himself on that wonderful sea of harmony and melody that he had been so used to as a child. The sun was already past midpoint in the sky and he suspected it would be dark before he grew tired.
The sound of a violin can be haunting, soothing or like someone is beating a cat with another cat. Sedition in his life had produced all three of the harmonies mentioned previously, although the latter sound had taken up a great deal of his childhood learning. As his uncle had taught him, the fiddle could give the mind a break from the patience the violin often needed and it was with that mindset that he had wandered towards what he would later found out was Storm. The slightly cracked violin had been well loved, stored away in a house with a child's' books and toys and wrapped up in a suffering silk cloth. Keeping the cloth he had rosined the bow and practiced a few tunes. Gone were the days of the human bard of which he had read, and now were the days of werewolf bard. Maybe.
Smelling the beginnings of a pack border he stopped, leaning against a nearby tree and began to tune the instrument, carefully cradling fiddle underneath chin and in hand and letting the song flow out of him, through his arm and fingers and into the world around him. Bleeding Souls always seemed quiet compared to Berowick. Back home there had been instruments, singing, wrestling and all matters of livelihood. Here there were similar things but they seemed reserved for special occasions. In fact, there were some that didn't even walk the werewolf lifestyle; preferring to spend their days in their four-legged form and living as their kin did during the time of the humans. To each their own, Sedition would say and resume his carving or cooking. Today was music.
Sweet dancing fiddle music. Leaning against the tree with blue eyes closed he let the music guide him and felt himself on that wonderful sea of harmony and melody that he had been so used to as a child. The sun was already past midpoint in the sky and he suspected it would be dark before he grew tired.